


Nobody Else Can Take Me Higher

by buckysbears (DrZebra)



Series: Let Us Love [9]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Autistic Character, Autistic Jemma, Gen, adoption au, childhood AU, mama may, supportive may
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 15:11:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11580633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrZebra/pseuds/buckysbears
Summary: Jemma isn't sure how May is going to respond to her new discovery.But of course, when has May ever let her down?





	Nobody Else Can Take Me Higher

**Author's Note:**

> this comes from two prompts, one asking for jemma telling may she's autistic, another asking for jemma's first weighted blanket 
> 
> jemma and fitz are 22-23 in this

“So how have things been at work?”

Jemma’s fingernails scrape gently over the patterned ceramic mug, textured with the layers of paint that Jemma had applied all those years ago when she was a young kid. May had received more than a few hand-painted mugs as gifts from the kids over the years (the last one being from a 17-year-old Antoine) and each one of the kids claims their favorite when they come over to visit. This one is always Jemma’s. It depicts no scene, just a pattern of zigzags and dots. Jemma had once explained she liked it because of how it felt in her hands.

When she receives no response, May says, “Jemma?”

Jemma continues to stare down at her tea.

Rather than touching her and startling her out of the trance she’s sunk in to, May starts skimming over the headlines on the newspaper in front of her. Which is maybe a bad idea. If she has to read one more thing about politics she’s going to scream.

She’s looking over the weather forecast when Jemma’s head pops up, and she blinks at May.

“Sorry, did you say something?”

“I asked how work was going.”

Jemma nods, tapping her nails on the mug. “Good, good. Our boss is letting us have input into our next project. Fitz and I are going to try and convince her to look into advanced prosthetics. It’s a growing field, I think she’ll go for it.”

May takes a sip of her tea, which is almost empty, and getting colder. “That sounds good.”

Jemma nods again, then her gaze drifts back toward the tea, lips pressing together.

May watches her for a moment before speaking. “Is there something bothering you, Jemma?”

Jemma sighs, and her lips flicker up in a nervous smile. “Um. Sort of. Not bothering, I suppose. Just weighing.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

May figures that this is why Jemma came over. She’d called only last night to ask, when usually she calls at least a week in advance. And she sounded nervous on the phone. May hopes it’s not serious, but if it is then they’ll deal with it together.

The tapping on the mug gets more urgent. “Yes. I do. I just … I’m not sure how to say it. How to tell you.”

May considers that for a moment, then stands. Jemma blinks at her in surprise.

“Come on.”

Jemma follows her out of the room and into the living room, and sits on the couch when May nods at it. Then May makes her way over to the corner, where Lancelot is sleeping, snoring heavily.

“Lance,” May calls.

The dog doesn’t budge.

She nudges him with her cane. “Lance.”

With great effort, the old Pyrenees lifts his head, snorting sleepily.

“Where’s Jemma?” May asks.

Lance fixes his gaze on Jemma on the couch, tail thumping once.

“Go get her,” May says encouragingly.

Slowly, Lance pulls himself up, stretches languidly, and walks over to the couch. He stares up at Jemma for a moment before raising one paw, placing it on her leg, and huffing.

“You are too big for this,” Jemma says, even as she bends over to heft the dog onto her lap, front half first, then back half. She groans with the effort, as he weighs about as much as she does.

Lance adjusts himself over Jemma’s lap and sighs heavily as he lays down his head.

“Silly old dog,” Jemma mutters fondly, stroking his long, white fur.

May sits down in the chair across from the couch, watching as Jemma twists Lancelot’s fur between her fingers. She doesn’t speak, knowing Jemma will start when she’s ready.

“I …” Jemma says eventually. She clears her throat. “I’ve been doing a lot of research.”

When it doesn’t seem like Jemma is going to continue, May prods, “On?”

“Autism.”

That takes May a little off guard. “I don’t know much about it,” she admits.

“I didn’t either,” Jemma says. “One of my coworkers, his daughter just got diagnosed. We were talking about it at work, and he was telling me about her, and … and everything he was saying, just, it really sounded like me as a kid. He calls her his ‘little professor’. It struck a chord with me, so I started looking into it.”

May steeples her fingers over her lap. “And?”

“I read a lot. A lot of websites, a few books. And at first I didn’t want to believe it, because I had this picture of autism in my head, and it didn’t line up with me at all. But the more I read, the more I read accounts written by autistic people about their experiences, the deeper I got into it … the more it made sense. The more it … explained things. Explained me.”

“Do you need to be explained?” May asks.

Jemma is quiet for a moment. “You know I …” She bites her lip. “I was always different from other kids. Even if you say I wasn’t, it’s true. I was odd. The only people who I thought really understood me were you and Fitz, and … I think that’s because a lot of the time I didn’t really understand myself. And you know I’m—” She shrugs. “-you know, I’m still different. From other people. I can’t escape that. And there are things I’ve always wondered about. Things that just didn’t seem to make sense. But … looking at it from this angle, it all kind of falls into place.”

May mulls over that, and then nods. “Okay.”

Jemma stares at her. “You’re not …?” Her brows furrow.

“Not what?”

She looks away again, shrugging. “I don’t know.”

“Jemma, if you think this is a part of you, then it’s a part of you I accept. I love all of you, oddities or not. You know that.”

“Yeah.” Jemma lets out a relieved breath. “I know.”

“And obviously this is something I’m going to want to learn more about. So I’ll be expecting you to send some materials my way.”

“Of course. If you want them.”

“I do.”

“Okay.”

Jemma seems calmer now, less nervous, but she’s still quiet.

“How are you feeling about all this?” May asks.

Jemma lets out a quiet sigh, thinking. “I’m still … processing a lot of it, really. I think more than anything I’m relieved. It raises a lot of questions, obviously, but it answers more than anything else. I have to think about it more, and I’d love your opinion once you learn more about it. But this is something I’m pretty sure about. It’s just got me a little off-balance right now.”

“Anything new you learn about yourself, big things like that, you need time to settle into it. That’s normal. This is a fundamental part of your identity, and it’s okay if it takes you some time to get used to.”

Jemma glances up at her. “You think?”

“Definitely.”

“Yeah.” She nods.

“Do you want to show me some of the websites now?”

“Oh god no,” Jemma says, nose scrunching in distaste. “Your internet is so slow, it’ll take ages for anything to load. I’m not going to be here for that.”

May snorts. “Actually, Skye hacked it or something, it’s much faster now.”

“… She ‘hacked it’?”

“She did something with the router. It’s a new one.”

Jemma laughs. “That’s not hacking, mum.”

May rolls her eyes. “Well, whatever she did, it’s better.”

Jemma smirks, rolling her eyes in response. She glances at the clock. “I should actually be heading into work soon. I’m only working a half day today, but I don’t want to start too late.”

“When was the last time you had a day off?”

Jemma grins knowingly. “If I tell you, you’ll be mad, so I’m not going to tell you.”

“You know that alone makes me mad, right?”

Jemma’s grin stays plastered on her face as she scoots out from beneath the dog and makes her way to the main hall. “Bye, mum.”

May stands to walk her out, and hovers by the door as Jemma collects her purse and keys. Jemma opens the door, then stops, turns quickly, and launches herself at May. May staggers back a bit and has to catch herself with her cane.

“Thank you,” Jemma says, muffled against her shoulder. “For everything.”

May just hugs her back.

 

\--

 

May’s never minded long drives. Something about being behind the wheel just puts her at ease. Maybe the hum of the engine, or the mindless way she gets lost in driving. Still, she doesn’t like that Fitz and Jemma live so far away. Little Rock is only a 45-minute drive, but it’s far enough that she doesn’t see them as often as she likes.

So two weeks have already passed before she manages to make her way to their apartment, a boxed gift wrapped in brown paper heavy in her arms as she knocks on the door. Lancelot stands behind her, that look in his eye like he’s thinking about lying down already, even though he was lying down the whole car ride there. He’s not on a leash. He never wanders far anymore.

Jemma answers the door with a smile, but she’s got her cell phone trapped between her ear and her shoulder. She waves May in.

May makes her way into the small apartment, stopping near the door and looking around. The kitchen and living room are connected, and it’s easy to tell which space either of the kids occupies. There’s a filing shelf on the kitchen table in lieu of a centerpiece, and the folders spread on the table are meticulously placed. The living room, on the other hand, is a disaster. There’s some video game paused on the TV (a first-person shooter, May lived with them long enough to know that much), the couch cushions are on the floor, and there are at least seven empty bottles scattered on the floor around them, as well as a few bags of party-sized chips. Fitz himself is nowhere to be seen.

Lancelot makes a beeline for the couch cushions and plops onto one of them.

“No, no,” Jemma says into the phone. “That goes in the blue folder. B is for blue is for biological … Right … No, no, don’t- Well tell her she needs to start filing it that way, or I’m never going to find it … No, her system is ridiculous, it doesn’t work … Yes, I know it doesn’t work, I’ve been trying to parse it out for two years now, and I’m still confused. Just- Proper filing is all I’m asking for here. It can’t possibly be that difficult … Yes, thank you. I appreciate it very much. Okay, see you Monday.” Jemma hangs up the phone with a heavy sigh. “Sorry. You know work, it’s impossible to get away from.” She rolls her eyes, then moves forward to give May a peck on the cheek. “How are you, mum?”

“Much more informed than I was two weeks ago,” May jokes.

Jemma beams. “Done some reading, then?”

“I’ve read _Nobody Nowhere,_ most of _Neurotribes_ , and all the websites you gave me.”

“And?”

“I think it sounds a lot like you.”

Jemma deflates. “That’s … really relieving, actually.”

“That’s why I got this.” May holds up the box.

“Oh.” Jemma blinks at it. “You didn’t have to get me anything. I don’t think this is one of those mandatory gift-giving occasions.”

“I just thought you might like it.”

Jemma takes the box, and almost drops it. “Oh my god, how much does this weigh?”

“Twenty pounds,” May says, a little smile tugging at her lips.

“What could this possibly be?” Jemma mutters to herself as she slices through the tape with a nearby pair of scissors and unwraps the box, then pulls off the lid. She’s quiet for a moment, staring, then runs her hand over the fabric.

“You got me a weighted blanket,” Jemma says, sounding a little choked.

“I hope you don’t already have one.”

Jemma turns and pulls May into a hug, holding on tightly. “You got me a weighted blanket,” she says again.

“I did.”

“I love it.”

“Yeah?”

Jemma pulls away, nodding, looking just the slightest bit teary. “It’s got stars on it.”

“It was hard to find someone to make one in something other than a child size. But the person who made it is autistic, which I thought you would like.”

“I do like,” Jemma confirms. “I like very much.”

“You don’t have to try it now—”

But Jemma is already hefting it out of the box.

She holds it in her arms and makes her way over to the couch, which of course has no cushions on it, those cushions being occupied by the dog on the floor.

“Ugh, Fitz,” Jemma grumbles.

“Where is Fitz?” May asks.

“Grocery store.”

May pauses. “You trust him at the grocery store?”

Jemma snorts. “I should amend, he’s on a snack run. He ran out of Doritos.”

May nods. “That makes more sense.”

“I suppose Lancelot isn’t going to move, is he?”

“Not unless you have Snausages.”

“I unfortunately do not.”

“Then that’s going to be a no-go.”

“Bedroom it is.”

Jemma makes her way through the short hallway and turns into the second door, May trailing her. May is always surprised with how ‘grown up’ Jemma’s room looks, mostly because she’s constantly surprised at how grown up Jemma is. Despite the very tasteful and minimalist décor, however, she still has her Ollie the Owl plush on her bed, the same one she’s had since that very first weekend with May all those years ago. May picks it up, smiling at it fondly.

Jemma crawls onto the bed and then spreads out the large weighted blanket, wiggling beneath it. She lays flat on her back with the blanket draped over her, a smile slowly curving its way onto her face.

“This is amazing,” she says.

“You’re not just saying that?”

“No, honestly. Come try it.”

May props her cane on the nightstand and scoots under the blanket with Jemma. She takes a moment to adjust to the feeling.

“It’s … heavy.”

Jemma laughs. “That is the point, yes. Isn’t it great though? It feels like a tight hug.”

“It’s heavy,” May says again.

Jemma shakes her head, then turns onto her side so she can snuggle up to May, wrapping an arm around her.

“Did I already say thank you?”

May pretends to think about it. “I don’t think so, no.”

“Well, thank you.”

May rests her hand over Jemma’s. They’re both silent for a moment. “What book should I read next?”

“I’m making my way through _Lucy’s Story_ and quite enjoying it. I’ll let you know if it’s a ‘to-read’ once I finish.”

“Okay.”

Jemma lets out a heavy-but-pleased sigh and burrows closer. May gives her a few minutes before she pats her hand.

“I should head back. It’s a long drive back to Pine Bluff.”

“You should stay for dinner.”

May considers. “Only if you’re not having Doritos.”

Jemma chuckles. “Well, I can’t speak for Fitz, but I’ll be having actual food.”

“I’ll stay, then.”

“Good. I’ve missed you, I hardly get to see you.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Jemma rolls her eyes and sits up, and May gets off the bed to let her off as well. “I know, I know, we’re the ones who moved away. You’re going to have to get over that eventually.”

May smirks. “You wish.”

Jemma types into her phone as they make their way back out toward the kitchen. The response is almost immediate.

“Fitz got stuff to make spaghetti. Also, he’s mad that he didn’t get a present.”

“Well, when he has a big, life-changing revelation then he can get a present too.”

“I’ll let him know.”

May sits down at the table, and Jemma pours them both a glass of water. Then Jemma sits too, her brow scrunching as she looks away.

“What’s up?” May asks.

The expression clears. “I know I already said thank you—a few times—but … thank you, again. For everything. For being so understanding.”

May shakes her head. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Jemma. Being accepting of who your children are is the minimum requirement for being a parent.”

“Yes, but a lot of people fall short of that. And yet you go so above and beyond. I never thought I would get the chance to have a parent as amazing as you are, and I don’t know how I got so lucky. I don’t say that enough.”

May isn’t sure how to respond, how to convey how warm that made her chest, but that’s when the door unlocks and Fitz walks through.

“Hey, mum,” he says, smiling, then looks toward the living room and freezes. “Lance!” he almost yells, and drops the grocery bags on the floor so he can go over to him. He kneels down on the ground in front of him and rubs his hands over the dog’s belly. “Hey, buddy. Oh, I missed you.”

May rolls her eyes. “He loves that old dog more than he loves me.”

“Well, at least one of us loves you more.”

Fitz looks over, scrunching his nose. “Oh, don’t be such a suck up, Jemma.”

Jemma sticks her tongue out, then smiles primly.  

“You better wash your hands before you make dinner,” May tells Fitz. “Lance smells like old tires.”

“He smells perfectly fine, and I don’t want to hear another bad word about him.”

Jemma squints. “You are washing your hands, though, right?”

Fitz sighs. “Yes, Jemma, I’m washing my hands. See?” He gets up, holding his hands up in defeat, and makes his way over to the sink. After he’s done, he fetches the bags from the front hall and starts pulling out ingredients to make the spaghetti.

May eyes the folders on the table. “So, how’s work going?”

“Our boss decided to go the prosthetics route,” Jemma says, beaming. “It’s very exciting. Isn’t it, Fitz?”

He nods.

“Tell me all about it,” May says.

“ _Well_ —” Jemma starts, and then begins rambling about things May won’t even pretend to understand.

May just sits back, nods when she’s supposed to, and revels in the fact that it feels like they’re back home, together, right where they’re supposed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> me: okay im planning out the final fics of the adoption au, i'm not gonna write any more once those two are done   
> me to me: write a bunch of fics that go in front of those   
> me: perfect


End file.
